


Unrequited

by Diotima_Philosopher



Series: Catharsis [2]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:47:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25003369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Diotima_Philosopher/pseuds/Diotima_Philosopher
Summary: Obi-Wan's feelings for Qui-Gon have come into sharp focus...much to his pain.Obi-Wan's perspective on what occurred in "A Kiss."
Relationships: Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Catharsis [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764220
Comments: 23
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

Qui-Gon Jinn and Obi-Wan Kenobi had been sent to a particularly tedious Senate function, which would have been of no interest to Obi-Wan whatsoever—these dull Senate things were completely interchangeable, as far as he was concerned—save for the two women who made their interest in Qui-Gon obvious.

After the monotonous speeches, there would, of course, be a meal, and at that time usually any Jedi would be seated among themselves, and therefore separate from the Senators and the Senatorial families, but two silly daughters of a Senator had insisted, with wide eyes, that they were “so very interested” in the philosophy of the Jedi, and so they wanted to be seated with Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan noted coldly that their sudden philosophical interest had started after they had first glimpsed Qui-Gon, and running their eyes up and down him.

The two girls were almost completely indistinguishable, save one was fair, and the other, dark. Even their names were of a babyish similarity, Jya and Kya, as if their father had an utter lack of imagination or they truly were indistinguishable even to their own families.

At dinner, they flirted and giggled with Qui-Gon with their high voices and their grating laughter that tinkled like silver bells. Jya, the blonde one, watched Qui-Gon with almost comically wide eyes, as if everything he said was absolutely fascinating, while fluttering her eyelashes, and laughed at every sentence, whether it was funny or not. Kya, the dark haired one, repeatedly tossed her long blue-black hair off her shoulder and found excuses to touch Qui-Gon on his arm, leaning forward so he could get a better look at the shadow of her cleavage.

None of this was particularly surprising. Qui-Gon was handsome, in his unconventional way, knowledgeable, witty. And there was something very human about him that suggested, despite his oath of chastity, that he did not despise the body or its pleasures.

It was only _natural_ that women were attracted to him.

Sitting next to the blonde, and hearing her silly giggle, Obi-Wan stared morosely into the flame of one of the table candles in a stony silence.

“Your arm is _so_ strong,” gushed Jya, now finding and excuse to touch Qui-Gon’s arm like her sister did.

Watching Jya, who giggling, was attempting almost to fall into Qui-Gon’s lap, and Kya leaning over to show the tops of her breasts, Obi-Wan had a spasm of pain thinking that they would probably like to _kiss_ Qui-Gon, if they had a chance.

 _The way **I** kissed him…but perhaps he would not push **them** away. _Obi-Wan closed his eyes, wearily, for a moment.

For his Master _liked_ women in a sexual way. He was never flirtatious or suggestive, but there was something sympathetic about how his Master interacted with women which made it clear he understood women very well. When he had asked Qui-Gon if he had ever had sexual relations, Qui-Gon, being chivalrous, had not given any details, but it wasn’t hard to imagine Qui-Gon being with a woman. The thought made Obi-Wan’s stomach lurch with a sickening feeling

 _He’s probably been with **many** women, _Obi-Wan thought miserably, _it’s only because he’s too respectful that I don’t have to hear about all the women he has been intimate with._

He opened his eyes to watch his Master, glumly. Qui-Gon had managed to disengage his arm from Kya, keeping his eyes only on her face, rather than her ample cleavage. Meanwhile, he had somehow kept Jya from falling outright into his lap, with a gentle motion of his hand. Yet he did it so smoothly, with a smile and a self-deprecating comment about his age that he somehow managed to not offend.

Within moments, he had launched into a hilarious story, which soon had the girls reduced to laughing so hard that they wept.

This _should_ have made Obi-Wan feel better, but somehow it did not. Yes, Qui-Gon was not accepting their obvious advances. But he was doing it in such an accomplished and polished way that it made it obvious he understood both women and lovemaking very well. If Qui-Gon had not been determined to keep to the Code, he would have been just as skilled taking things to the next inevitable step.

_And he has, before. He **admitted** as much._

He was also being kind and considerate to the girls, not accepting their invitation, but doing so kindly, in a way to not hurt their feelings. As always, he was sensitive to the possibility of hurting their feelings, rather than being curt and rude.

Obi-Wan wanted him to be curt and rude.

_He cares about everyone. **Everyone’s** feelings matter to him. Mine too, but not just mine…_

Obi-Wan reached for the decanter of wine in front of him, so abruptly he almost knocked it over.

He rarely drank, but what choice had he? He remembered, his face burning, another night where he had drunk his fill of alcohol—the night of the _Sokrateion._

Obi-Wan had gone out to drink, because the alternative had been _unendurable._


	2. Chapter 2

Obi-Wan had always had vague and unformed longings to be close to his Master. Almost as long as Obi-Wan could remember, even from his first youngling years at the Temple, he had admired Qui-Gon from afar.

It had been _easy_ to admire Qui-Gon, who was held up by all the Jedi as one of the greatest Masters, and who was unfailingly considerate to others besides. However, from Obi-Wan’s part it was a wary and watchful admiration, because even then Obi-Wan had understood that the tall Jedi Master with the deep laugh was as different from him as frost was to fire. Obi-Wan was frost, witty and clever, and like frost, crystalline, utterly detached and separate from others. While Qui-Gon was all fire, full of compassion and unafraid to follow where his emotions led him.

Obi-Wan could not understand Qui-Gon at all. And _yet,_ at the same time, watching him from his wary distance, Obi-Wan had felt the strange attraction of the opposed. It was as if by regarding his opposite, his own nature was made clearer, his deficiencies more marked, his hunger for completeness finally acknowledged. Obi-Wan had never understood himself to be emotionally distant before, but now, in contrast to Qui-Gon, he felt his own _lack_. He yearned to be warmed in Qui-Gon’s heat.

Qui-Gon was full of compassion, and always seeking to heal others. He was known for even showing mercy on defeated enemies right after they had attempted to kill him. He was also known for sheltering and counseling the troubled Jedi, who were weak and flawed, or struggling with their own emotional burdens.

Perhaps his compassion and desire to heal had been the driver for his strange choice of Obi-Wan as his Padawan. It was likely, Obi-Wan would sometimes think, with a tinge of bitterness, that that was the _only_ reason Qui-Gon had chosen him. Perhaps Qui-Gon had felt, even from a distance, Obi-Wan’s isolation, and had sought him out so that the young boy would not be so completely alone.

That was the most _likely_ explanation, Obi-Wan conclude. Why else would the great Qui-Gon Jinn have chosen _him?_ It was said openly in the Temple Obi-Wan was an incredibly and remarkably gifted youngling, perhaps the greatest of generations. But Obi-Wan knew he was ever the _other,_ utterly unlike Qui-Gon.

And certainly, Obi-Wan thought, _fire_ could never yearn for _frost._

It _still_ seemed incredible to him.

“I am taking you as my Padawan,” Qui-Gon had said simply, inexplicably, looking down into Obi-Wan’s eyes.

Obi-Wan, stunned at his words, had said nothing, but looking back into Qui-Gon’s deep blue eyes he had thought, _I am yours, body and soul._

This was not a silent oath. It had been something far greater and more profound. It was as if at the moment he had been chosen by Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, who had always been intellectually detached from others, had been suddenly overwhelmed with some feeling he could not describe, but inexplicably, rather than struggle against this rising tide that threatened to drown him, he recklessly surrendered to it.

He had yielded up himself to that feeling. _Body and soul._ _Whatever_ that feeling was.

Obi-Wan had understood his feelings as respect, admiration, even hero-worship.

There was certainly nothing wrong with _that._ It was only _natural_. Qui-Gon was among the greatest of the Jedi, why should his Padawan not admire him, even _worship_ him? Certainly such feelings were _normal_. And among the Jedi, even more than admiration between Master and Padawan was allowed. _Filial_ love, where the Padawan loved their Master not only as an example to be emulated, but as a parent, was openly _encouraged_. Such love, it was believed, drove the Padawans to even stricter observance of the Code, greater and greater achievements. So this type of love was considered a _worthy_ love, something to encourage in the Padawan.

So Obi-Wan had _loved_ Qui-Gon, but he did not, at first, recognize his love was not the love that the other Padawans had for their Masters, perhaps because at first he was far too young and innocent to recognize the true meaning of his feelings.

And then when he grew a little older, despite still remaining innocent, he had somehow dimly perceived the danger in his feelings, and so he had allowed himself to see only what he chose to see, and had closed his eyes to things that did not align with this understanding.

But looking back, so _many_ things.

When Obi-Wan was first chosen, he was still a child, and like a child with their first loves, he had daydreamed about dying for his Master. Obi-Wan did not _want_ to die, but like many children, even more pragmatic Jedi children, death was seen as more of a romantic adventure than something to be feared. And his love for Qui-Gon was a child’s love: humble, eager for self-sacrifice, and demanding nothing.

Obi-Wan fantasized about epic battles they would have when he was older, fighting side by side like the Jedi of old, and he would fight bravely and with astonishing skill, so that his Master would see what a great Jedi Obi-Wan had become.

But at the very last moment Obi-Wan would allow himself to take a killing blow from some worthy enemy, rather than let his Master be hurt.

Those fantasies always ended Obi-Wan falling down to the ground gracefully. Qui-Gon would rush to his side, and take his Padawan in his arms. Qui-Gon’s strong arms would be around him, keeping him safe, his long soft hair draping over Obi-Wan’s face like a caress.

“ _Why_ did you do this, Obi-Wan?” he imagined his Master asking.

“I would rather die than have you take the slightest injury,” Obi-Wan would then reply. If it sounded melodramatic even in a child’s fantasy it was only the truth as he saw it.

Qui-Gon’s hand would stroke Obi-Wan’s fair hair away from his brow, so he could look into Obi-Wan’s eyes as he died.

“You truly love me,” Qui-Gon would say, wondrously, “Obi-Wan, you are the _best_ of all Padawans.” And his Master would weep, still holding him close, and despite the fact even in the fantasy Obi-Wan had to die, it seemed very sweet and good and even proper to die that way, held close in his Master’s arms, Qui-Gon in that moment esteeming Obi-Wan before all others.

_Best of all Padawans._

For Obi-Wan had also been inexplicably and unreasonably jealous of all of his Master’s former Padawans. Such feelings, even as a child, he understood to be strange. None of his age-mates seemed to feel that way, they spoke lightly about their Master’s former Padawans, as if they were friendly older siblings, and the connections they had with their Masters not of much concern.

But this connection Qui-Gon had with other Padawans ate Obi-Wan up with _jealousy_. Qui-Gon had _chosen_ other Padawans. He had been _close_ to them, _cared_ for them—

When his Master told stories about his adventures with one of his Padawans, with a wistful smile about something amusing that they had done, Obi-Wan could hardly hear the story, possessed by a horrible resentment. Obi-Wan would feel _angry_ , even _hateful._ He knew he was wrong, and that his feelings made no sense, but it seethed in his stomach just the same.

Obi-Wan wanted Qui-Gon to smile like that only for _him_.

“Feemor was a peasant, like me,” Qui-Gon said once, referring to one of his Padawans who had been a son of a farmer, “It was _easy_ for us to understand one another.”

Obi-Wan had felt a strange sensation at his Master’s words, for even though Qui-Gon hadn’t even referred to Obi-Wan, it still seemed as if Obi-Wan had somehow been measured and found wanting.

For Qui-Gon often joked about Obi-Wan’s obvious fine lineage, particularly when referring to Obi-Wan’s impeccable manners, but with this offhand comment about Feemor, Obi-Wan had felt a sense of despair. He himself was too _different_ , and he would never be as close to Qui-Gon as Feemor had obviously been. At Qui-Gon’s words Obi-Wan looked down at his own fine boned wrists and felt hatred for _himself_ , for Feemor, and even for Qui-Gon, none of which made any sense to him at all.

Obi-Wan knew his feelings were abnormal, and he knew that they were also morally _wrong_. He knew, without being told, that he must keep these strange and fiendish feelings to himself, because no one he knew shared them. Obi-Wan was tormented by these inexplicable feelings, so unbecoming of a Jedi, which made him even less worthy to be a Padawan to his great Master.

As Obi-Wan grew older he also never understood the way the other Padawans spoke longingly of growing beyond their Master. When they spoke of leaving the side of their Masters and becoming Masters themselves, he had felt vaguely uncomfortable, because he did not share their feelings.

If anything, he had dreamed about _never_ leaving his Master. Obi-Wan daydreamed about the day when he would be a man, and stand beside his Master, and in his fantasies he would not be forced to undergo the Trials, but always be allowed to stay beside Qui-Gon. The two of them would wander the worlds together, growing ever closer over the years, and they would _never_ be separated. He knew it was a foolish fantasy, he would of course have to undergo the Trials, become a Master himself, and grow apart from Qui-Gon—but he preferred _not_ to think of it.

Ironically enough, as Obi-Wan was an exceptionally gifted student, the Jedi Masters would speak openly about how advanced he was, and say that he was likely to undergo the Trials several years earlier than expected, and be a great Master all on his own! Whenever they said those things that Obi-Wan would feel a flash of strange and unworthy _anger_ at these Masters, as if they were personally attempting to take him from Qui-Gon’s side, and another feeling— _despair._

Obi-Wan _wanted_ to be a great Jedi. He wanted to excel, to prove himself worthy of his Master. He wanted to be perfect, purged of his strange and ugly feelings, and so he drove himself harder than any of his age mates.

But his own gifts, and his own hard work, would quickly take him away from Qui-Gon’s side.

And of course, the great Qui-Gon Jinn would quickly find another Padawan to replace him.

What made it even _worse_ was when Obi-Wan did not respond to the Masters fulsome praise, saying nothing, his face white and tight with negative emotion, the Jedi Masters never understood his reaction, but misunderstood it as Obi-Wan’s unmatched modesty.

“You see,” they would crow, pointing at Obi-Wan in front of all of his age-mates, “Obi-Wan is utterly without pride. He does not does not exult at his gifts! At our praise at how advanced he is, his response is only humility! If only you all could be like _him_! Regard, and emulate!”

They would say this, and point him out to the other Padawans, as someone to be imitated. In those terrible moments Obi-Wan would know himself an _imposter_ , for their perception of him was entirely _wrong_. He was most definitely _not_ someone to be imitated. He was not a great Padawan, he was not even a _good_ Padawan, he was a troubled and unworthy Padawan, who struggled with strange and inexplicable feelings that made no sense to him at all.

Ob-Wan was alone and different in these feelings. Worse, there was no one to whom he could confess, as he knew himself to be wicked, and he did not want to _shame_ Qui-Gon with having such an iniquitous Padawan. And, yet even more pathetically, even if there _was_ someone who he could confess to, in his confusion Obi-Wan didn’t even know exactly what he _should_ be confessing, as he didn’t fully understand the feelings himself.

Perhaps his wise and compassionate Master could have explained it to him, comforted him, _healed_ him—but Obi-Wan somehow knew that that Qui-Gon was the _one_ person to whom he should never unburden himself about these things. Obi-Wan could not articulate it, even to himself, but he knew that there was horrendous danger there, something that Obi-Wan could not allow to be acknowledged or it would explode like a thermal detonator and destroy everything.

So Obi-Wan remained confused, and struggling, and _hurt_ for several years, but he managed to find his way back to some equanimity through the strict and unforgiving code of the Jedi. As he had grown older, he had gotten better at purging his incomprehensible and wicked feelings by unremitting work and duty, and an unyielding commitment to excellence.

Obi-Wan soon became universally acknowledged at the Temple to be the most committed and greatest of all the Padawans, a true credit to his Master. If he was occasionally troubled by uncomfortable feelings, he would cruelly beat them back down again with work and intellect until he could pretend to himself that these were not his _real_ feelings. Obi-Wan accepted that he was _frost,_ brilliantly intellectual, exceptional at detachment, and these strange and unworthy flashes of feeling, so at odds with his understanding of himself to be almost nonsensical, were merely peculiar notions or remnants of a child that he had obviously outgrown.

And so perhaps it would have remained, at least for a longer time, if not for the failings of the other Padawans.


	3. Chapter 3

Ironically, it began because they thought Obi-Wan utterly beyond reproach. The Padawans who struggled with unworthy feelings sought him out, for he was the greatest and most virtuous of all the Padawans in the Temple, so they would unburden themselves with their sinful thoughts and look to him for advice and absolution.

Sometimes they confessed about their lack of true zeal for the exacting Code, or jealousy of another Padawan’s skills, or unreasonable anger at a stern Master, but often these confessions were of a more personal nature.

They would whisper to Obi-Wan, in hushed ashamed tones, about all their feelings, their need to break the Jedi Code of chastity. They talked about their bodies’ needs, loneliness, even assignations and clumsy fumbling in the dark.

Ob-Wan did _not_ understand. The thought of falling in love was utterly alien to him, and to yield to sexual weakness _revolting_. He did not long for _any_ of those things, so he was unmerciful and utterly without compassion. He would castigate them, his clear blue eyes flashing, and remind them harshly of their duties as a Jedi. They should be _ashamed_ of themselves, their weakness, their pathetic craven desires for _mere_ sexual relations! What did any of _that_ matter, when compared to the commitment to the Code?

For their part, the Padawans that unburdened themselves to him were not altogether unhappy with his stern response, and many of them, after speaking with him, sought to correct their errors. For they had seen that moral _Obi-Wan,_ was the _one_ Padawan who did not fall short in this regard. If he could be so _pure_ , purged of all physical desire, and free from all sensual longings, could they not do the same as well? Obi-Wan was an inspiring _example_ to them all. If only they could be more like _him._

 _When_ had Obi-Wan finally realized his utter hypocrisy for what it _was?_ That everything everyone believed about him was a complete _lie_? He was _not_ moral. He was an abomination, _monstrous_. Even now he choked with pain when he thought of it.

Had it started with the images they had placed in his mind? The Padawans who confessed to him insisted on describing things so _vividly_ for him. Not just the forbidden kisses and stolen caresses, but of the _feeling_ s, the yearning to be not only beloved by the other but completely _one_ with the other. They spoke of horrible paroxysms of jealousy, the pain of wanting their beloved, the confusing feelings, and always the _longing._

The Padawans’ foreign and bewildering passions disturbed his calm equanimity. It was as if a small rock had been dropped in a dark abandoned chasm where an underground river once ran. It was mostly dry and barren, as the water had been purposefully diverted to more honorable courses that could flow down to the sea shining in the revealing light of day. However, forgotten even by Obi-Wan, the smallest remnant of dark water remained, and with the disturbance of the rock there was a faint distant echo in response. Obi-Wan could pretend he did not hear it, but on some level, he resonated with it all the same. He resonated with feelings and desires of his _own_ , which he had purposefully forgotten.

It started as dreams. Strange dreams that were not coherent, that were jumbles of many images and feelings, like a strange kaleidoscope of images that had only their interior logic to find meaning. All of them were odd and shamed him. A fine-boned woman’s face, that he did not recognize, but with blue eyes like his own, turning away from him. Strange memories of being an infant— _that_ was certainly not a memory, was it? For in the dream he was _very_ tiny—and he would scream and scream and no one would come. Sometimes there were variants on that dream that were truly bizarre and utterly incomprehensible, where he would still be a screaming infant but Qui-Gon would come for him, and then Qui-Gon would pick him up and place him on his lap, and then open up his tunic so the infant Obi-Wan could somehow nurse from Qui-Gon’s flat male chest.

That perplexing dream would sometimes then metamorphose into Obi-Wan still between his Master’s legs, but in the dream he was no longer an infant, he was a young _man,_ and this is when his dream would become shameful, because although in the dream Obi-Wan and his Master were fully dressed something about being pressed up against his Master would make that mystifying and troublesome male part of Obi-Wan stiffen against his will.

It was reprehensible to even _dream_ of something like that. But in his dream Obi-Wan _wasn’t_ ashamed of his physical reaction, despite how dishonorable it was, he actually _enjoyed_ having his throbbing erection blatantly pressed between his Master’s legs. And in the dream his Master’s reaction to this shameful display of weakness was also tremendously pleasurable, because instead of being properly revolted by Obi-Wan’s erection, as would be expected, in the dream Qui-Gon seemed inexplicably pleased by it.

“You truly love me,” Qui-Gon would say, wondrously, “Obi-Wan, you are the _best_ of all Padawans.”

“Yes, I _truly_ love you,” Obi-Wan swore fervently. Yet the words did not completely satisfy, as if being a mere Padawan telling his Master he loved him was not exactly what he wanted to say, as if there were feelings that went far deeper that he could not reach with words, so Obi-Wan did not know how to say it.

“I am taking you as my Padawan,” Qui-Gon said, looking into Obi-Wan’s eyes.

In the dream Obi-Wan said what he had left unsaid, so many years ago, “ _Yes,_ I am _yours,_ body and soul.”

“I am _taking_ you,” Qui-Gon then repeated, but he did not finish the rest of his expected statement, about taking Obi-Wan as his Padawan, so the words vibrated in the air with strange emphasis.

“ _Yes_ ,” Obi-Wan agreed, to that sentence that seemed to have no real meaning, but in the dream it made sense. In the dream it was the exact same feeling as when he was chosen, except far more powerful, the emotions rising up in a tide that would drown him, but in the dream he knew he would _not_ drown, he could cling to his Master and let the relentless water rise up and crash over him, but he would be safe, and he would not die.

It was strange, in dreams one did not usually feel pain, or hunger, or physical discomfort, but in his dream Obi-Wan was shivering, as if from cold.

“I am cold,” Obi-Wan said deliberately. Then a plea. “ _Master. Warm_ me.”

When Obi-Wan would awake with a hypnic jerk on his sleep couch, he was alone. Cold and utterly alone.

Dreams like that _haunted_ him during his waking hours. He was thrown into anguish and confusion. He remembered now his horrible jealousies as a child, his strange yearnings, his need to be close to his Master. They had never gone away, only punitively suppressed for a time, and now, having hidden in the dark, unseen by the light of his mind, they now rose up and threatened to consume him utterly.

As these feelings began to come into sharp focus, Obi-Wan realized he could say nothing to no one. He was still too innocent to fully understand all the implications of his feelings, but he understood well enough to know that these longings were forbidden.

He began to spend his spare time in the Jedi library, reading obsessively. At first, he did so to better understand these confusing feelings, to help him find peace with his struggle, but reading the Jedi commentaries on such things only increased his pain. They offered no answers, or even comfort, but only stern admonitions. Every text written by the Masters on the subject merely reiterated that any feeling between Master and Padawan should be of the most platonic and philosophical kind; any other, even if it was not physically expressed, was, without exception, immoral and utterly forbidden.

And the word they used for such feeling was not the more familiar “ _harmartia_ ,” denoting “flaw” or “error”—a matter for compassion, and forgiveness—but the cruel and frightening word, “ _apechthema_ ,” “abomination.”

Obi-Wan had been sitting in an alcove in the Jedi Library the first time he read that word in regards to his own feelings. The ugly and unforgiving word had paralyzed him; he just stared at the word, unable to read any further, as if the word was a black and accusatory eye staring back at him, denouncing him for who and what he was. His pain was so tremendous that he could feel it in his chest, and he had to place his hands on the library table to steady them from trembling.

For if his feelings for his Master, which seemed such a deep and true part of his being, were an abomination, then _he,_ Obi-Wan Kenobi, was an abomination as well. The Jedi Council praised him as the most promising of the Padawans, the most dedicated, the most brilliant, but it was all based on falsehood. If they could see into his heart, they would cast him out. And Qui-Gon, if _Qui-Gon_ , ever even _suspected_ who Obi-Wan _truly_ was, he would turn away in revulsion.

In that terrible moment in the library, Obi-Wan realized with painful clarity that he would be forced to always hide who and what he truly was, and to learn to dissemble and deceive, if he hoped to remain close to his Master.

If he had been alone, instead of in the Jedi Library, he would have wept.

This understanding of his feelings only increased the distance between him and Qui-Gon. He had to hide now, but how could he hide from his _Master_? He was in agony, longing for closeness, but knowing closeness was _dangerous_ , that at any moment he could make a mistake and inadvertently reveal to his Master his forbidden longings.

It was better to stay apart. He found himself snapping at his Master, inexplicably angry, and falling into strange silences, as too much was left unsaid. He saw his Master did not understand him, grew angry at his rudeness, at his abrupt and curt answers, but disapproval, anger, _anything_ was better, than his Master coming to understand what an _abomination_ he was. Better that Obi Wan be chastised than sent away.

Obi-Wan at least comforted himself with the cold comfort that at least any sensual love was forbidden to the Jedi. _He_ would never be any closer to his Master, but at least if he was not to be closer, at least no one else would have _that_ closeness to Qui-Gon. At least Obi-Wan would be the perfect Padawan, and never set aside for a lover.

Yet, even as he comforted himself with this, Obi-Wan was stricken with doubts. Obi-Wan became jealous of shadows, fearing Qui-Gon’s ability to love, his compassion, his affinity with others. Had Qui-Gon violated the Code? Had he _kissed_ someone? Or _more_? His Master might have done _something_ with _someone_ , despite being an honorable man. His Master was too easy to forgive weakness—was it because he _understood_ it?

Obi-Wan told himself that he was imagining things, but his mind went in circles, over and over. He found himself _obsessed_ with it. He convinced himself that his Master would not have fallen, he was too honorable, too _good,_ and Obi-Wan need only ask once, and he would be reassured about his Master. He would finally _know_ that Qui-Gon had never belonged to another. So he had stupidly forced the issue. Obi-Wan had insisted his Master read to him from the _Phaedrys_ , the abstruse Jedi text famous for exhortations to chastity, and after reading it together had Obi-Wan had asked pointed questions.

But when he learned he had _not_ been imagining things, and that his Master had violated the Code, multiple times and with more than one person, Obi-Wan completely lost whatever equanimity he had barely managed to hold onto. He was still ignorant about many things about sexual relations but somehow managed to imagine sordid scenes, multitudes of desirable lovers, his Master belonging to each and every one of them, smiling into their eyes, kissing them, being intimate with them—while _he_ , Obi-Wan Kenobi would never be _any_ closer to his Master, _never_ to be touched by his Master, _never_ to be kissed by him, forced always to remain _apart._

And if it were _only_ sex. But his Master had made it clear he was only following his _heart_ , that he had fallen in love, and his body had followed. That should have made it better for Obi-Wan, that his Master had not betrayed the Code just to sate crude physical need, but for a more elevated and understandable reason, but, if anything, it made it _worse._ If Obi-Wan could have convinced himself it was all meaningless to Qui-Gon, the pain would have been infinitely less. But to imagine Qui-Gon doing _that_ for love, being _in_ love and seeking _closeness_ with the other—

Obi-Wan could not bear to look on it directly. He retreated further, into work and study, and spent long hours on training, and in the Jedi library, and everywhere else, _anywhere_ , that Qui-Gon was _not_. _Anything_ was better than being near him. Obi-Wan now felt as if he was almost divided in two—he _loved_ his Master desperately, but also felt irrational _hatred_ for him, for keeping himself _apart_ from Obi-Wan, when Obi-Wan _needed_ him so much! He knew it was totally nonsensical and unfair but he could not help his feelings. It made him hate and despise himself even more.

So his anger increased, the distance increased, while always his own _need_ increased. He was the tiny infant in his dreams, without nourishment or succor, all the while silently screaming. He found himself pathetically craving scraps of affection from his Master, but he was terrified to take even common kindness from Qui-Gon, lest he reveal too much. So when his Master, puzzled by the strange inexplicable breach between them, would tentatively reach out to Obi-Wan, the response would frequently be icy retreat by Obi-Wan, or even blazing anger, for Obi-Wan was frightened by his own neediness and yearning. His feelings were so _unworthy_ for a Jedi, and moreover, they were _dangerous_! If he took even the slightest affection from his Master, he was very likely to make a fool of himself, and reveal to Qui-Gon who and what he was. He risked being cut off from his Master. _Forever._


	4. Chapter 4

It had become unendurable the night of the _Sokrateion_. Their chambers had become too claustrophobic, Obi-Wan’s need too great, and Obi-Wan felt as if he couldn’t _breathe._ It was their anniversary, the anniversary of the night they had become Master and Padawan, but Qui-Gon had had many Padawans before Obi-Wan, and in the future he would have many more. He loved Obi-Wan, of course, but Qui-Gon loved _everyone_. Obi-Wan was different, Qui-Gon was _everything_ to him. To Qui-Gon he was only another Padawan, just one of many.

It had been a _relief_ to go out with his friends. Despite his intellectual detachment to others, or perhaps even partly because of it, he was very popular with his age mates. He was obviously the most gifted of the Padawans, and he was clever with a quick wit. He often was harsh with moral exactitude, but seemed so innately morally superior and exceptional of talent that it seemed to his fellow Padawans more a natural consequence of his innate excellence than anything that could be resented. And despite his sternness in moral matters, it was obvious that he was seemingly so utterly detached from the other Padawans that no judgments he made were personal against anyone, only statements of fact as he saw them. Moreover, he was so fair in his judgements of others, and so obviously exactly correct in his assessments, and managed to be so clever with his cutting words that his comments were taken as more scintillating and brilliant than unkind.

So he had many friends, or at least people who considered themselves his friend, although Obi-Wan forced himself not to think what they would consider him if they could see into his thoughts and feelings, and understood who he _really_ was.

It was easier to go out with them that night and pretend than to be trapped in his rooms with his Master. Obi-Wan always feared inadvertently revealing himself under his Master’s perceptive gaze. But it was _more_ than that, when Obi-Wan was separate from Qui-Gon he became detached from all emotion, and he could manage to even pretend to himself that he truly _was_ that aloof and brilliantly intelligent person the other Padawans perceived him to be. The _other_ , that part of him that he hated, so _fragile_ and so _pathetically_ emotional, the part so _excessively_ attached to his Master, would seem to him distant and a dream.

So Obi-Wan had _clutched_ at the invitation, on some level knowing to leave with his friends on the night of their anniversary insulting to his Master, but not particularly caring, because he could not bear to be alone with Qui-Gon a moment longer.

As Obi-Wan made to leave, pulling on his rough brown cloak, he even realized it didn’t _really_ matter if his actions were insulting, because he doubted he could _really_ offend his Master.

 _It’s not like I could hurt him,_ Obi-Wan thought, _He doesn’t take anything **personally** from me. He’s far too understanding of everyone else’s feelings to be hurt, and I’m not important enough to him. Or at least no more important than anyone else._

The thought bought him relief, but at the same time, also _pain._

Obi-Wan and his friends went to a cantina, far away from the Jedi Temple and their Masters’ disapproval. Obi-Wan was particularly brilliant that night, because he _had_ to be; it was as if his own survival depended on it.

He soon had his friends laughing at his clever quips, and he drank more and more, until he felt woozy and sick, but all the while he kept up brilliant conversation, so cutting towards the stupidity of others that it would _almost_ draw blood, but so _dazzling_ and amusing to listen to, just the same. His friends patted him on the back, and ordered him rounds of drinks more drinks, and laughed at his astonishing cleverness, even if it was directed each of them, all the while admiring and thrilled at his utter self-possession.

 _I am who they think I am._ Obi-Wan thought, looking at their flushed faces and eyes shining with admiration and laughter. _I am not—the **other**_

He would _not_ think of his Master in their rooms, now sleeping alone.

So the night went on and on, and the Padawans grew more and more intoxicated and even a little rowdy.

It was very late into the night when his friends suggested going down to the Kathonika, to watch forbidden Holovids of sexual relations. One of his very drunk friends suggested it with a knowing smirk, as if it was something he had done before, and his other friends snickered, but didn’t refuse outright.

Obi-Wan was shocked, more than shocked, _disgusted_. His face went white, and his jaw clenched, with anger and another emotion he could not articulate.

“ _Disgusting!_ ” he snapped, “Have you no _shame?_ You are _Jedi!’_

His friends were _very_ intoxicated, which is why they had stupidly mentioned it in front of him, but they quickly remembered _who_ they were speaking to, and rapidly made their retreat, apologizing repeatedly for their error, and carefully not looking at him. They felt shamed under his stern gaze, but Obi-Wan noted, cynically, that as they all left they left together, likely to head out to the Kathonika to watch their revolting Holovids.

For his part, he ordered another drink.

Their actions had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. He was properly disgusted at their weakness, and revolted that they had even suggested it in front of him, as if he would want to _shame_ himself like that, _dishonor_ the Code! He was angry, but there was another emotion lying beneath, the one he had not been able to articulate.

Morosely, he looked down at the top of the bar, at the stickiness of the drinks that had been spilled there.

Was it _envy_? Obi-Wan dared not look at it too close, but there it was.

His friends’ desires, however pathetic, were _normal._ Even if _shameful_ in a Jedi, there was no _abomination_ there. If it was discovered that they had enjoyed such things, they would be chastised, certainly, but there would be no revulsion, no rejection! While _he_ —

He downed his drink in one abrupt motion.

And further—did he envy them because their desires were not only normal, but _easy_ to sate? Was he angry because his _own_ desires would _never_ be sated?

Another horrible, unbidden thought---perhaps he himself lacked the desire to watch Holovids of sex between strangers, not because he had any honor, but because his desire were excruciatingly, pathetically, _specific_. For only _one_ person. If for example, if he was offered the ability to see, not Holovids of naked strangers, but the unclothed body of his _Master_ , what would his answer be _then?_

He dared not answer. But in the end, Obi-Wan was not only not _better_ than his Padawan friends, he was infinitely _worse_.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, partly to steady himself from the alcohol, partly to absorb the terrible import of that thought.

Then someone lightly touched his arm, so he opened his eyes again.

He saw a woman beside him. She was _astonishingly_ beautiful, and it wasn’t just the drink that made her so. He blinked.

She was a young human female, about his age, and she wasn’t just beautiful, she was _unusual_ looking, which only added to her beauty. She had long black hair shot with a white streak that went back from a widow’s peak that turned her face into a heart. Even in the multicolored lights of the cantina he could see that her two eyes were of different colors, the right blue, and the left green. She was dressed in an outfit that was barely there, clinging to her small but exquisitely well formed body, cut at the midriff to show her small waist to better effect. The revealing outfit was brilliantly white, and that, along with her unaffected way of carrying herself, made the outfit seem less salacious and more simply an appropriate display of her beauty.

Strangely, she did not smile, and began without preamble, “Are you alone?”

“Yes,” he said. He was too drunk to think of any reason why she would be asking him that, and it was too easy to answer honestly.

“Me too,” she said, and then added, unexpectedly, “You are _very_ handsome.”

“You too,” he replied, then tried to correct himself, “No, _Pretty._ No, not _pretty_. I’m sorry, you know what I mean—“

She smiled, showing small very white teeth. “You are not used to drinking, Jedi. Are you?”

“No,” he said, the lurching in his legs even as he just stood there betraying the truth, for he was swaying even as he stood. He had to use his hands to steady himself against the bar. If he had been more sober he would have thought himself ridiculous.

“Do you mind if I drink with you?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” he said, which wasn’t _entirely_ true, but he didn’t want to be rude, and to argue seemed too difficult, over the music of the cantina and his intoxication.

She smiled again, “I’m Ishara.”

“I’m—“Obi-Wan began.

She put her finger to his lips. “Shhh. Jedi. It’s better _not_ to tell me your name, don’t you think?”

Obi-Wan didn’t understand what she meant by It might be better not to reveal his name but it seemed easier to agree. He nodded, stupidly.

“I’ll buy,” she offered, unexpectedly.

“I have credits,” he offered, pulling at one of his pockets.

“Not much. I am sure I have _much_ more than you,” she said without insult, and made a signal to the barkeep for drinks.

“What planet are you from?” he found himself asking, curious despite himself, because even with the loud music in the cantina he could hear in her low voice an accent he could not place.

She laughed, as if his question had been amusing. “People— _men_ —always guess _wrong_. I’m just from Coruscant.”

At his obvious puzzlement, she laughed again, “I never tell— _men_ —the truth. But as you are an _honorable_ Jedi; I don’t have an _accent_ , I was born deaf.” She pointed to her small shell like ear, “Robotic implants. They were put in by my first— _ahem_ , protector, when I was six. When he realized I was going to be grow up to be pretty.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan answered, although he did not. What she was saying was hard to follow in his current state, and he wasn’t sure what a protector was, and what growing up to be pretty meant in terms of helping cure a deaf child.

“I can hear _perfectly_ , but I don’t understand music at all,” she added, without sentimentality, “I _dance_ —in my work, I _have_ to—but I cheat. I just count the beats of the music. Robotic implants can’t make me appreciate melody and harmony, since I was born deaf.”

Obi-Wan thought, _That is sad._ But he sensed the young woman would not take that comment well, as if he pitied her, and he was saved having to reply by the barkeep brining their drinks.

“Oh, _thanks_ ,” Obi-Wan said. It was a foamy beverage of a luminescent green he had never seen before, but when he lifted his lips it was sweet and delicious.

“I have lots of credits,” she said, lightly. She touched her lips with her pointed tongue, like a cat. “Men give me _lots_ of credits. You know what I mean, Jedi?”

“Not exactly,” he mumbled.

“I’m sure _you_ don’t,” she laughed, not unkindly. “But what it means that I’m _definitely_ the type of girl your Master doesn’t want you to talk to.”

“My Master doesn’t _care_ who I talk to,” Obi-Wan said, more sharply than he intended. “He doesn’t care _what_ I do.” Saying it aloud made him want to throw up.

She made no response to his emotional tone, but only said, “I still doubt he’d like you talking to _me_. But fortunately, he’s _not_ here, and you _are_. Does your Master know you are _here_ tonight?”

“Of course not,” Obi-Wan replied.

“ _Good_ ,” was her unexpected reply. “You know, I find myself wondering why a young Jedi is drinking alone in a cantina, in a place where his Master would not approve. And _very_ drunk.”

“I’m not _that_ drunk,” Obi-Wan protested, even as he put his hand up against the bar to steady himself again. Talking about his Master and thinking about how Qui-Gon didn’t care what he did, made him irritable.”And why do _you_ want to know?”

“I’m a _curious_ young lady. _Don’t_ tell me. Let me _guess_.” She put a finger to her cheek and closed one eye, mischievously, as if trying to figure him out.

“She _broke_ your heart!” she concluded triumphantly, opening her eyes wide.

“No.”

“A hidden sweetheart? A failed love affair?”

“No. Lords of light, _No_.” His head was hurting and he was tired of the game. He spat, “If you must know, all my friends left me, to go down to the Kathonika and watch Holovids. Of— _sexual relations_.”

“And _you_ didn’t go with them?”

“ _No_.”

“You have it _bad._ ”

Ob-Wan said nothing, only finished off the drink, his hand shaking. Her offhand way of perceiving the _real_ reason for his refusal to go down to the Kathonika—his desire for someone else—shamed and _terrified_ him.

“Oh, you _do_. You have it _bad,”_ she said again. Her tone was mocking but strangely more kindly than he would have expected.

“ _Whoever_ they are,” she added. Despite his intoxication Obi-Wan noted that now, in a knowing but again no cruel way she had elided over pronouns, carefully nonspecific of the gender of the person she imagined Obi-Wan was pining for.

But instead of being grateful for her politeness, between that and her absolutely _correct_ assertion that he was yearning for someone was _infuriating_. To be half-seen like that— _exposed_ by a _stranger_ —was too _shameful_ and too near his pain.

“Yes, fine then, yes!” he blurted angrily, “I have it _bad._ Now please, just leave me _alone_.” He closed his eyes again, hoping she had gone away.

After a moment, he realized she had not gone away, for he heard her voice, with an unexpected undertone of compassion. “You’ll get over it, Jedi. You always do.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” he replied tightly.

“You’d be surprised. One of my _talents_ is helping pathetic lovesick idiots _get_ over it,” she said incomprehensibly.

“What?”

He opened his eyes, blearily. Her expression was impossible to read, but she was looking at him with a strange mixture of pity and something else, but it _wasn’t_ mocking.

“Some of my business is when rich fathers want their sons to forget about some barkeep or maid they’ve fallen in love with. Better and expensive week or two with me than an inappropriate marriage! That work isn’t _so_ bad. I guess you could say I’m doing a _worthy_ service,” she said sardonically,” The Coruscanti high and mighty should give me a _medal_. That is, if they would ever admit to _knowing_ me.”

“Most of my other work is _worse. Ugh_. Most of them are rich, fat, and self centered,” She then looked at him up and down appreciatively, “But _you_ would be _fun_. Not just because you are _hot_. Do you know you are _hot_ , Jedi?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, because he didn’t exactly.

“It means whoever _they_ are is _definitely_ missing out,” she said, “What’s _wrong_ with them?”

“Nothing!” he snapped angrily, “There is _absolutely_ nothing wrong with— _them_. He-- _they_ are _perfect_. What you _should_ be asking, what is wrong with _me_!”

“But I already _know_ what is wrong with you, Jedi. Unrequited _love_ ,” she said, rolling her eyes. Teasingly, she leaned slightly forward so he could get a better look down her dress. Her breasts were small but exquisitely well formed.

“You’ve never done it before, have you?” she asked bluntly.

Obi-Wan didn’t respond but he had flushed scarlet to the roots of his hair.

“I _though_ t so,” she clucked, “what a _waste_. I’ve never been with a Jedi before. It might be _interesting_. I’ve heard they teach you through discipline and use of the Force to completely _control_ your body.”

“Not for _that_!” he exclaimed, embarrassed.

“It might be worth a try,” she said, seemingly enjoying his embarrassment.

She signaled to the barkeep, and Obi-Wan was presented with another drink, this one a dark purple.

“Thank you, but I really shouldn’t,” Obi-Wan said, but picked up the drink and drank anyway. It was also delicious, with a faint bitter under taste that made it even more delicious. He realized whatever it was very strong, as it made his eyes water and his head swim a little more.

“You Jedi should sometimes get to taste the expensive stuff,” she said lightly. She was drinking the same type of purple drink, but it didn’t seem to affect her at all. “Besides, it makes it easier.”

“Makes _what_ easier?”

“Forgetting yourself.”

“If _only_ ,” he said bitterly.

She then leaned in and with a small hand ran down his Padawan braid, and twirled it teasingly around her finger, then dropped her hand down on his wrist, touching his skin. Her hand was very warm.

Before he even could respond, she leaned in and said, very quietly, “How about we forget _together?_ I won’t charge _you_. With _you_ I think I’ll _enjoy_ it. I’ll even help you forget _whoever_ they are. Come _home_ with me.”

At her words, the touch of the skin on his wrist, he was completely shocked at the suggestion, and he tried to move away stiffly, but he was almost to the point of being sloppily drunk and everything seemed in slow motion.

“I _couldn’t_.”

“I’m _very_ good at what I do,” she said, not a boast but a statement of fact. She then added, significantly, looking directly into his eyes, “One of my _many_ specialties is dressing in men’s clothes and pretending to be a young man--if that is what you _need_.”

“I don’t _need_ —I _can’t_ ,” he blurted clumsily, “I am very sorry. I am a _Jedi_ , and it’s against the _Code_ —“

She took her hand away, her face unreadable, but a feeling rushed over him, not his own feeling. But _hers_. Obi-Wan could sense through the Force another feeling— _sadness? loneliness?_ Despite his tremendous gifts in the Force he would not have expected to be able to sense her feelings so _easily_ , and her feelings pained him as they mirrored his own. This hardened and cynical young woman _could_ be hurt. She was not entirely unlike him—seemingly cold as frost, but also _fragile_.

_a little girl was crying as she was being dragged away from her mother by a large man. her mother was crying too, clutching at her desperately, as the little girl was pulled out of her arms. her mother was saying **something** but the world was utterly silent so the girl couldn’t hear her mother’s goodbye. one eye of the little girl was green, the other blue._

Despite his own pain, and his intoxication, Obi-Wan knew that what he had seen through the Force was _real,_ and that he had somehow bought up painful feelings in this hard jaded woman. She was, of course, a total stranger, but in that moment through the Force he had somehow _felt_ her. He was _very_ drunk and upset he hurt her, and worried he might inadvertently say something to her about what he had seen through the Force, so his speech was uncharacteristically clumsy, “ _Ishara_. You are _beautiful_. And you are very _kind_.”

She laughed cynically and without mirth at his words. “Men tell me I am _beautiful_. But _kind_? Not at all!”

“But you are!” he insisted, as he could also sense it was somehow true, “I think—I think you want to _help_ me. With—In your own way. And I’m so _sorry_. I don’t mean to be _rude_. It’s just I am a Jedi, and I _can’t_ —Oh, but it’s not _just_ that. He _can’t_ be with me—not that he _wants_ to, anyway. But I must remain _true_ to him. I am _his_. I _love_ him.”

Obi-Wan had _never_ said these words aloud, not even to himself, so it was strange that he finally unburdened himself of his deepest and most painful secret aloud to a stranger in a crowded cantina. If he had been in his right mind perhaps he would have been appalled, but after what he had glimpsed of her he felt she deserved _some_ truth from him.

Of course, Obi-Wan could not say the _full_ truth, that the love he felt was for his Jedi Master, an abomination, an _apechthema_ , because he was too ashamed to reveal that even to this young woman who probably was jaded and cynical about all forms of sexual deviance. But it was a _relief_ to finally say that he loved Qui-Gon aloud, even if he did not make it clear to her who Qui-Gon was and what was their real relationship, because in that one moment he could finally be at least _partly_ true to himself.

“I can tell that you really _are_ a virgin, the way you are going on,” she said mockingly, but there was no real sting to her words.

Obi-Wan took no offense at her mockery, because he had sensed with the Force her other, more painful feelings, so he pressed on, hoping to make her understand, “And anyway, I’m sure being with you would have been—well, it would have been _wonderful_ , I’m sure that it would have been—well, I am sure it would have been very _memorable_ and I thank you for the _invitation_ , particularly because I know you are trying to be kind—“

“Thank you for _the invitation_?” she echoed, laughing, but it was a _true_ laugh at his formal speech, not a mocking one.

“—but like I said, I’m a _Jedi_ , so sexual relations are forbidden. And it’s of no use, in any case, I’m in love with someone else.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been turned down like that before,” she said, taking a sip of her drink. “I can’t decide if I’m _annoyed_ or _charmed_. Maybe _both_.” She ran her eyes appreciatively down him, and shook her head. “What a _waste_.”

After a moment, she downed the rest of her drink, and deliberately put the empty glass on the bar.

“You want _my_ advice, Jedi?”

“Sure,” he said, although he was not so sure he did.

She put her hand on his wrist again, this time seemingly without seductive intent, but to impress upon him her words. “You are _so_ drunk right now that I think you have enough courage to go after your whoever they are. And you _should_. And if he _doesn’t_ respond to your obvious allure, you can tell him that _I_ think he’s a complete idiot.”

“I _couldn’t_ ,” Obi-Wan said awkwardly, but all the same her suggestion _thrilled_ him. He thought of his Master, now sleeping alone on his sleep couch. The thought awoke in him a painful yearning along with an answering shameless pulse in his groin.

“It might be worth a try,” she quoted herself from before, and smiled at him. She seemed a lot younger in that moment, like the little girl in his vision.

Looking into her two eyes, one green, the other blue, he spoke deliberately and with earnest sincerity. “You _are_ very beautiful,” he said, seriously and utterly truthfully, “And _very_ kind. And Ishara, I’m—I’m sorry that you can’t understand music. I wish you _could_.”

“Perhaps I don’t understand a lot of things,” she said, her eyes opaque, “but at least I don’t understand what I’m missing. “ Unexpectedly, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. She smelled of alcohol and a very overwhelming and obviously expensive perfume but her lips were soft, like a child’s.

“I should go now,” Obi-Wan said.

“Yes, you _should_ ,” she agreed. “A lot of very _bad_ people are in this place. This is no place for someone like _you._ You need to go find _whoever_ they are, I think.”

“I _shouldn’t_ ,” Obi-Wan said, but then laughed gleefully, adding recklessly, “But I think I _will_!”


	5. Chapter 5

Riding home to the Jedi Temple on the Coruscanti train, the hood of his Jedi robe pulled over his face so no one would bother him, he had been shaken and giddy at the same time. Had Ishara offered him sexual relations because her knowing eyes could somehow _see_ through him? She had not known that he desired an abomination, an _apechthema_ , but she _had_ sensed that he was flawed. Why else would she so shamelessly offer sex to him, even while he was dressed in his Jedi robes, if she had not sensed that flaw within him? It was strange, for everyone in the Jedi Temple believed him to be the most honorable and pure of Padawans, the _one_ Padawan without imperfection in moral matters, but _something_ of his deepest secret had been somehow apparent to a stranger.

This thought, that he was flawed and beyond redemption _horrified_ him, yet at the same time it _liberated_ him.

 _If I am lost, what does it matter what I do?_ Normally this thought would have made him want to despair, but in his strange mood, it made him feel _free_. He need no longer struggle against the unrelenting pull of the tide, but give into who and what he was.

Obi-Wan was _very_ drunk, but not too drunk to realize what he intended to do when he returned home was morally wrong, but some rebellious and previously unknown part of him did not care.

Everything outside the window of the train seemed remarkable, bright, full of color and _life._ Even the lights of Coruscuant were brighter and more dazzling. It was as if now that he was letting himself feel, he was more awake, _alive_ , and everything seemed more _real_ to him.

Obi-Wan laughed, delighted at everything, and he continued to laugh even though the other passengers on the train gave him wary looks and even moved farther from him, thinking he was mad or had ingested hallucinogenic substances. Their reaction made him laugh harder.

He was drunk not only on alcohol, but on feeling _alive_ , and his rebelliousness.

He _would_ kiss his Master as it was the only thing that could ease his pain.

He had returned to their quarters, and looked at his Master, lying on his sleep couch, infinitely desirable and distant as if he had been on the far side of one of the Coruscanti moons.

Obi-Wan _would_ cross that distance. He _would_ kiss his Master, whatever the cost.

In the darkness he had laid down beside his Master. He had almost, despite his severe intoxication, lost his courage at the very last moment. But Qui-Gon had _provoked_ him by calling him his _son_ , ruffling his hair like he was a _boy._ Would his Master never _see_ him as anything _else?_ Obi-Wan has been in agony, torn between rage and pain and relentless desire.

“I am _not_ a boy,” Obi-Wan had said slowly, angrily, before pulling his Master close to him in the dark, and finally kissing him.

That _kiss_! He had yearned for it for so _long,_ _dreamed_ about it, and when Obi-Wan had _finally_ kissed his Master, it was infinitely more incredible and wonderful than he had ever imagined. Even to think about it now made his knees shake.

He remembered his Master’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him away, gently, so _very_ gently, horrible despite the gentleness, no, all the _more_ horrible for the gentleness!

That patronizingly kind response had _devastated_ him. Obi-Wan would have preferred something, _anything_ , to indicate that Obi-Wan’s desperate yearnings had stirred some kind of passionate response in Qui-Gon, even if it was a negative one. Shock, anger. _Outrage_. _Anything_ but Qui-Gon’s gentleness. His _pity._

His Master had obviously been utterly unresponsive to Obi-Wan’s advance, yet he had been so careful to be _kind_ , as if Obi-Wan was still only an gawky little _boy_ whose advance was so _pathetic_ it was almost beneath Qui-Gon’s notice

And how had his Master treated him _afterwards_? _Nothing_ had changed. _No_. The only thing that had changed was that his Master had become even _more_ understanding, more unfailingly _kind_ , as if Obi-Wan was just a stupid child with confused feelings that had to be coddled and patronized, his feelings being of no particular importance. Yes, Obi-Wan was relieved that his Master had not reacted with horror at this kiss, that Obi-Wan had not been cast out of the Jedi Order for his _apechthema_ , but at the same time he was deeply conflicted. He had revealed his deepest, most passionate feelings, and his Master’s only response was complete and utter _indifference._

Obi-Wan did not entirely blame him. He inwardly winced when he remembered the awkward way he had pulled and clutched at his Master when he kissed him. Despite all his punishing Jedi training, the years of learning to completely control his body, in _this_ , Obi-Wan’s body had refused to obey him. Obi-Wan had been _trembling_ , his whole body shaking, his kiss inexperienced, _clumsy_ —

He remembered, with a flush of shame, the word Qui-Gon had used to describe Obi-Wan’s kiss.

_Harmless._


	6. Chapter 6

“Master Qui-Gon, you are fascinating!” exclaimed Kya, breaking into his thoughts.

Obi-Wan, already mildly intoxicated, shook his head in disgust. He reached again for the decanter of wine.

“Yes, my sister is _right_ , Master Qui-Gon, please tell us another story!” Jya begged, looking up at his Master adoringly through her lowered eyelashes.

_Harmless._

Obi-Wan looked at the mouths of the silly girls. They were both painted, Jya’s a pale pink, in imitation of innocence, and Kya’s a deeper scarlet. They were girls who understood these things _far_ too well. No, if _they_ kissed his Master, they would know how to please. They would most definitely _not_ be clumsy.

“Haven’t you had enough to drink, Padawan?” asked Qui-Gon. It was a gentle question, hardly a rebuke, and practically the first thing he had said to Obi-Wan during the entire dinner.

“I can hold my drink,” Obi-Wan said stubbornly. He poured another glass and drained it, looking at his Master the whole time.

Qui-Gon then filled the two glasses of the girls, and his own glass, smoothly and gracefully emptying the decanter, so Obi-Wan would not have another.

“Oh, Master Qui-Gon, I hardly ever drink. It makes me so-so- _warm_ ,” said Jya, tittering, but Obi-Wan noted she drained her glass expertly. She tittered again, and practically fell into his Master’s lap, as if she was more intoxicated than she really was.

Something red and hot exploded in Obi-Wan’s mind.

“Show my Master some respect!” he snapped. His voice came out unused, a harsh, grating sound.

There was a moment of silence between the four of them. The silly Jya’s face had suddenly become more vulnerable. Under her artful makeup she was only a young girl, not predatory at all, but as defenseless as he was. Obi-Wan was completely _ashamed_ of himself. She was just a silly girl, and if _she_ _wanted_ his Master, was it really any different than what _he_ wanted? And she was not taking anything from him. What he wanted was an _apechthema_ , impossible!

Obi-Wan started to apologize, but before he could say anything, his Master had stepped in, saying smoothly, “You must excuse my Padawan, ladies. He is overtired from work, and not used to wine.”

“Of course,” Jya said, but she still regarded Obi-Wan warily.

Qui-Gon’s smooth apology, and the girl’s hurt eyes, made the room too hot all of a sudden, and the wine had finally hit his head, as his vision swam.

“Excuse me—I must go outside—“Obi-Wan blurted, getting up so suddenly he almost knocked his chair over, “If you will excuse me. I am feeling _sick_.”

He almost ran from the room, unable to bear it any longer. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he could barely see where he was going, he only knew he _had_ to get away from there.

Outside many of the banquet rooms in the Senate Building were small and elaborate gardens, and after going through a few doors, he stumbled into one. It had dainty flowering plants, and artfully trimmed trees to look more natural than nature, and a small fountain where water ran over stone. He was grateful that it was late, and the garden was empty, so he was alone.

The garden was cool, and he could hide his burning face in the shadows. Suddenly possessed by a tremendous thirst, he went to the fountain, cupping his hands so he could drink water from the fountain. The water was very cold, and bitter from the taste of moss.

Gulping down the water was a mistake, because his stomach, full only of alcohol, couldn’t take the sudden shock of cold liquid, and to his horror, Obi-Wan uncontrollably threw up, right into the fountain, threw up the silly girls, his Master’s indifference to him, his own loneliness and need. He collapsed to the side of the fountain, disgusted with himself, panting as if he had been crying.

“Padawan?” Qui-Gon’s voice.

Obi-Wan was shocked, for he had not known his Master would follow him. He was horrified Qui-Gon had seen him like this.

“I was worried about you,” Qui-Gon said.

“I’m—I’m _fine_ ,” Obi-Wan lied. “I think I’m just sick. I threw up.” He was horribly embarrassed but relieved he did not have to go back into the dinner. He didn’t even care if Qui-Gon went back to the girls and they flirted with him, as long as Qui-Gon would _leave_.

“Let me help you,” Qui-Gon said.

“No,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head, stubbornly not looking at him.

Qui-Gon went away, and Obi-Wan was grateful, but in a few moments Obi-Wan sensed rather than saw that Qui-Gon was back at his side.

“I told the facilities about your—accident,” to Obi-Wan’s shame he could tell that Qui-Gon was looking down into the fountain. “It’s mostly washed away. _Here._ Drink this.”

Still not looking at Qui-Gon directly, only at the corner of his eye, he took the cup from Qui-Gon’s hand. To his relief, there was no alcohol, only sapir tea.

“It will settle your stomach,” Qui-Gon said mildly, “Sometimes drinking a lot of alcohol on an empty stomach disagrees with you. Especially as you usually don’t drink that much.”

“I’ve drank more,” Obi-Wan said, defiantly, thinking of the night of the _Sokrateion,_ “Sometimes it’s better to drink.” He left that statement in the air, to hang, unanswered, but he noted that Qui-Gon did not question him about the details.

Obi-Wan finished the tea, and to his surprise his stomach felt better. He handed the cup back to his Master, carefully not touching his hands. “You can go back now. I’ll be fine.”

“I made our excuses,” his Master said unexpectedly, “I think we should call it a night, don’t you think?”

Obi-Wan was grateful, but at the same time shamed. “Master—Master, I’m _sorry_ ,” Obi-Wan blurted.

“You didn’t wrong _me._ You wronged _yourself._ And the young ladies,” Qui-Gon said mildly.

“The young ladies,” Obi-Wan repeated, “You mean, the ones making advances on you?” He dared not look at Qui-Gon’s face outright, but still only at the corner of his eye, and he was grateful the garden was mostly dark.

“They would have paid more attention to you, if your manners were better,” Qui-Gon said, again without rebuke in his voice, “they looked at _you_ more than half the time, if you had bothered to notice.”

“They were annoying,” Obi-Wan said, more sharply than he intended.

“They are bored, and lonely,” Qui-Gon said, “Their father has too much money, they have too much free time, and they have no aim in life. It is _sad_.”

“So you are obligated to put up with their _flirting_?” Obi-Wan said. This time he was careful to modulate his voice, so it was less accusatory, but the end of the question still was sharp.

“I felt sorry for them,” Qui-Gon said, shrugging, “And there are many ways to the _good._ Some come to the good from desire for virtue, some from love, others from seeking pleasure—even seeking pleasure sometimes even bring one to the good. Although I grant you it may be a _longer_ path.”

“You mean to tell me that you thought you were _instructing_ them?” Obi-Wan said sarcastically.

Qui-Gon ignored his tone, “Actually, I _was_. Many of the stories I told are what I believe they need to hear. As to whether I am _right_ , and whether they actually _heard_ me, that I cannot say.”

Obi-Wan was suddenly ashamed. His own needs, his own jealousy had made him underestimate his Master. He was _undeserving_ of Qui-Gon, in so many ways.

Obi-Wan got up slowly, still refusing to look at his Master, “I know I am unworthy of you,” he said simply.

“Not at all,” Qui-Gon said kindly, “I often think I am unworthy of _you_.” This kindness made it _worse,_ so Obi-Wan could only be mute in response.

“Let’s go back to the Temple,” Qui-Gon offered, “We can go slowly, if you’d like.”

“I won’t do it again,” Obi-Wan said suddenly.

“Do what?” Qui-Gon asked, puzzled.

“This. _Everything_ ,” Obi-Wan said. He refused to elaborate.

Perhaps Qui-Gon understood, for he only said, “You are too hard on yourself, Padawan. You are young yet, my son.”

 _My son._ A dismissal. Once again found wanting. A _boy._

Obi-Wan followed his Master silently from the garden.

“Are you tired?” Qui-Gon asked, kindly, “I’ll call an air taxi.”

“ _Yes_ ,” Obi-Wan was suddenly exhausted.

They rode in the air taxi in silence, Obi-Wan leaning back and pretending to be drowsy, carefully not resting against his Master. He pretended to be falling asleep so he didn’t have to say anything, but although utterly exhausted, he felt as if sleep was lost to him.

The driver, a chatty Togruta, kept up a conversation with his Master, asking him about being a Jedi, and if Obi-Wan was his Padawan.

“He seems like a fine young man. He must be a good Padawan,” the driver commented, perhaps hoping to get a better tip.

“Yes, Obi-Wan is _exemplary,_ ” Qui-Gon said, unexpectedly, even after everything Obi-Wan had done that night. Obi-Wan squeezed his eyes shut harder, not only to make sure it looked like he was sleeping, but also perhaps to keep him from reacting at his Master’s undeserved complement. He wanted to weep.


	7. Chapter 7

When they got back to their rooms Obi-Wan saw to his surprise that his Master picked up his Sansil. Qui-Gon loved music, but he rarely had time to play,

“You don’t mind if I play a little, do you?” Qui-Gon asked, tightening the strings, “I can play something soft and low to put you right to sleep.”

“I don’t mind,” Obi-Wan said, his chest tightening. He watched with a strange emotion his Master’s hands on the pegs, and the gentle way he stroked the neck of the instrument, almost as if he envied the instrument his Master’s touch.

His master hit the strings, which sang out in a pleasant hum, and Qui-Gon began to play a simple tune, but it was so clear and so obviously felt the cheap instrument _sang_ despite itself. Qui-Gon, although mostly untrained, had a gift for music, as his response and understanding of it was fine and rare.

Obi-Wan suddenly remembered Ishara, who had said she did not appreciate music because she had been born deaf.

Obi-Wan felt a strange thrum in his body, in response to the simple song, and his Master playing the instrument with his sensitive hands, his face transformed in tranquility.

 _My Master could make her understand, if anyone could,_ Obi-Wan thought, watching his Master.

His Master suddenly looked up, as if he had felt Obi-Wan’s gaze. Perhaps he had.

“What is it, Padawan?” Qui-Gon asked.

“I’m going to bed,” Obi-Wan said, abruptly.

Obi-Wan lay down on his sleep couch, attempting sleep, but he knew it would evade him. The gentle caressing sound of his Master’s music, rather than soothing him, seemed to agitate him and put his nerves on edge.

 _He plays a lullaby for me, like I am an infant. He does not speak of the tension in the air but soothes me with pretty songs,_ Obi-Wan thought resentfully, even as he knew it was unfair.

After a few more songs, the music abruptly ended on a dissonant note, as if Qui-Gon was displeased with something, and within a few moments Qui-Gon entered their sleeping quarters.

“You don’t need to stop on my account,” volunteered Obi-Wan.

“I’ve played enough. It’s late,” Qui-Gon stated, “I should likely be going to bed, too.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed, and then fell silent. He was not sure if it was the music jangling his nerves, or the empty silence, but he said, “You think my behavior reprehensible tonight, don’t you?”

“No,” Qui-Gon said. “Unkind to that young girl, certainly, and not the courtesy I would expect from a Jedi. Particularly from _you_. And I am not over fond of you drinking yourself ill. But reprehensible? It did not rise to that level.”

“And why is that?”

“We should talk about this in the morning, Padawan. When you have rested,” Qui-Gon said.

The words echoed the words of the _Sokrateion_ , where Obi-Wan had kissed his Master, and Qui-Gon had told him they would speak of it more in the morning—but they never had.

“I would prefer to talk about it now,” Obi-Wan said, his voice was tight with urgency, but careful not to make it a demand—that would be unfitting for a Padawan learner to insist that his Master do anything.

Obi-Wan felt rather than heard Qui-Gon’s sigh. After a moment, Qui-Gon had placed the Sansil carefully back in its case, and then covering it with a soft cloth. Obi-Wan had the suspicion his Master was using this distraction to take a moment or two to think about what to say.

Qui-Gon then sat on the side of Obi-Wan’s sleep couch, and still hesitated a moment, as if he had to carefully consider his words.

“I know that things are hard for you, lately,” Qui-Gon said gently, “It is hard, sometimes, to, grow up. Grow _apart_.”

Qui-Gon let the words hang in the air. They were _painful_ words, acknowledging Obi-Wan’s pain, but at the same time not _really_ acknowledging the source of it, and the words had the added sting of implying this was mere growing pains. And more painfully, Obi-Wan understood that Qui-Gon was suggesting the solution was to grow separate from his Master.

Qui-Gon had meant the words kindly, but Obi-Wan was silent at the unintended cruelty. Perhaps sensing his Padawan’s pain, but unable to touch on it directly, Qui-Gon added, “I would take from you your hurt.”

“ _Everything_ hurts,” Obi-Wan said, without the slightest trace of self-pity.

Qui-Gon fell silent for a long moment. Then he finally spoke. “You are special, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan shook his head, “You say _that_ , after my behavior tonight?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Qui-Gon said, with unexpected intensity, “You are dazzling, like a bright star in the sky, a lodestar for all others to set their course by. But like a star, you are alone in the night sky. This is perhaps what drives these— _unexpected_ behaviors. And it makes me _sad_. But yes, you are special Padawan. You are a great among the Padawans, and you will grow _greater_ still. But this loneliness undermines you.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “But perhaps if you were not _so_ hard on yourself?”

“Not so hard on myself? I don’t understand.” Obi-Wan really _didn’t_. It seemed to him obvious that he was a wicked Padawan, and the proper course was to be yet _harder_ on himself, not gentler.

“You have _struggled_ hard, but, if anything, I think your drive to always do right has paradoxically undercut you,” Qui-Gon said incomprehensibly.

“That makes no sense,” Obi-Wan said, then realized his comment could be offensive, so he quickly added, “How can trying to do _right,_ make me do _wrong_?”

“Much wrong is done with the desire to do right,” Qui-Gon said simply. “You are a star in the night sky, my Padawan. But also _flesh_ and _blood._ ” He hesitated, then added quietly, “You do not see this. You think of yourself as a great intellect. Which you _are_. But you are capable of great love as well. I do not think if you _truly_ loved, and were _not_ alone for once, that the world would come crashing down. Perhaps, despite what you have been taught, your weakness would make you _greater_. You would be complete, both brain _and_ heart. Perhaps you would _finally_ see in yourself your great capacity to love.”

“What do you _mean_?” Obi-Wan demanded, in growing trepidation. He looked up from his pillow at his Master and could not read his expression.

“I should not tell you this, I know,” Qui-Gon said softly. “But I would rather you not be in such pain.”

“You mean—find a _lover?_ ” Obi-Wan was horrified at the suggestion, and the fact that it was his _Master_ suggesting he break the Code, made him cringe.

“Yes.”

“I will _not_ do that,” Obi-Wan said harshly, “it is _forbidden_ by the Code.” The other part, about the one he loved, the one he would never have, was not said.

“I would only ask you to— _think_ on it. I hate to think of you _alone_ ,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan knew it was the truth.

_Qui-Gon would be **happy** if I had a lover. Then he would never have to worry about me clumsily kissing him again, or have to deal with my unwanted feelings. If I took a lover it would be so **easy** for him. _

The pain of it brought tears to his eyes. Obi-Wan responded, as he only could, with rage. He sat up from his sleep couch, his blue eyes flashing.

“I will _not_ be like you! Betraying the Code. _Promiscuous_!” Obi-Wan said venomously. He knew even as he said it he was being cruel and unfair, but he was angry.

Obi-Wan could see by his Master's pained expression his words had hit home, so he immediately regretted his cruelty. He meant to stammer an apology, but before he could, Qui-Gon replied, surprisingly completely without anger.

“I see I have wronged you again,” Qui-Gon said sadly, “I fail you in so many ways.”

Obi-Wan, utterly humbled by this reaction, wearily dropped his head in his hands.

“No, Master, _I_ always fail _you_ ,” Obi-Wan said, into his interlaced fingers.

“Perhaps we fail each other,” Qui-Gon said thoughtfully, “But the far greater fault is _mine_ , as your Master.”

Qui-Gon took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, before standing up. “I see I have _hurt_ you. And I am very sorry for that. I would _never_ hurt you, if I could. But despite everything, I ask you to _think_ about it. If you can find some way to find your own tremendous capacity to love, some bridge back to humankind, a safe place where you are no longer _hurt_ —“

With a stunning finality, looking back up into his Master’s face, Obi-Wan finally understood that his Master truly felt _nothing_ in response to Obi-Wan’s yearnings. Qui-Gon had _not_ wanted his kiss, had probably not been merely indifferent to Obi-Wan’s advances but had been _repulsed_ by them, as if Obi-Wan was just a fumbling awkward boy. And because Qui-Gon thought he was a clumsy adolescent, of course Obi-Wan’s feelings were just as stupid crush, easily distracted by another object, and quickly forgotten.

Obi-Wan looked into his Master’s eyes. “I will _not_ do it,” Obi-Wan said. He said it earnestly, as if he was swearing an oath, with graven irrevocability. “It would be _wrong._ And not _only_ because of the Code. But because I—because I—“

“Do not say it,” Qui-Gon said softly. Then adding, with a gentle but complete finality, “ _Think_ on it, Padawan.”

Qui-Gon turned away and left, the door sliding shut behind him, leaving Obi-Wan entirely alone.

I will _not_ do it. I will not take a lover, not _only_ because of the Code, but because I love _only_ you, Obi-Wan thought defiantly.

And despite the pain, in that moment Obi-Wan resolved to live alone, always at his Master’s side, rather than choose an easier path.


End file.
